


The Honey Beanery

by judithandronicus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace as Lube (Supernatural), Canon Universe, Castiel likes Yelp, Coffee Shops, Dean Winchester Has a Panty Kink, Dean/Cas Tropefest 5k Mid-Winter Challenge (Supernatural), Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Rose Apothecary, Lingerie, M/M, Praying to Castiel (Supernatural), Winter, prayer kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:01:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judithandronicus/pseuds/judithandronicus
Summary: Dean and Castiel stop for coffee, snacks, and more at a little coffee shop in snowy western New York, and end up staying the night. Fluffy, smutty hijinks ensue.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 93
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	The Honey Beanery

**Author's Note:**

> West Aurora does not exist. Any similarities to East Aurora, which does exist, are purely coincidental. Thanks to the Tropfest organizers for this awesome and chill challenge - it was so much fun to do! And thanks to my Ride or Die trio, Neely0, ahurston, and unkindravens for giving me the tropes they wanted to see in this. ILU bitches.

“The Honey Beanery?” Dean huffs what he desperately hopes comes across as a sound of manly, righteous indignation (and not the petulant whine it actually is), and rolls his eyes so hard he can look inside his skull at the cheesiness of it. “Really, Cas? Can’t we just hit a drive-thru or gas station and keep moving?”

Reluctantly, Castiel tears his attention away from his phone to scowl at Dean from the passenger seat. “It’s got excellent reviews on Yelp,” he grumbles, sitting up straighter in the seat like he’s preparing for battle. “And the owners work with a small network of local organic farms and apiarists for almost all of their ingredients, as well as selling the products on a consignment model under the umbrella of the shop brand. It’s quite an innovative business model.” He’s gone a little dreamy at the end of it, a soft little curve toying at the corner of his mouth, as if “innovative business model” tasted like peanut butter and honey.

 _Goes all gooey thinking about honeybees and small businesses._ Just another thing to add to the list of ridiculous shit Dean finds adorable about the rumpled angel. As he sneaks glances at that soft smile from the corner of his eyes, something flutters in his stomach. Something like...butterflies? Is this what that saying means? Butterflies in your stomach?

Nope. Not butterflies, Dean decides. If anything, they’re...fuck, he can’t think of a flying bug manly enough to describe that tingly, featherlight fluttering that has him lighting up from the inside at the sight of Castiel’s smile. But still, whatever the fuck it is, it _ain’t_ butterflies.

Dean feels his lips curl into a smile of his own, warm and content, as he takes in furtive glimpses of Cas browsing the coffee shop website. At how his brows furrow in concentration or widen with delight. The way his lips move, in silence, sometimes as he reads. Dean wonders if Cas even notices that he’s doing it.

“Alright, angel,” he agrees, because of course he does. “Next stop, the Honey Beanery.”

* * *

**_Welcome to the Village of West Aurora! We’re glad you’re here!_ **

A nondescript wooden sign at the side of the narrow road marks the town limits for West Aurora, New York and directs them toward the town center two miles south.

Fucking _finally._

Next time Dean agrees to a detour for Castiel, he’s gonna make sure he checks a map for himself first. _“It’s not that far out of the way, Dean,”_ Cas had promised. Only he was thinking in terms of ‘as the angel flies’ and not ‘western New York backroads during a snowstorm.’ Dean’s been white-knuckling the steering wheel for a good forty-five minutes, ever since they took that exit off of Highway 400.

His poor Baby. She don’t like the snow, and it’s been coming down hard for a while now. Cas mentioned something about lake effect as they were passing Lake Erie, and maybe Dean should’ve been paying closer attention to what the angel was saying instead of thinking about what he wanted to do with the honey Cas was gonna buy when they stopped.

Dean tries not to think about all that salt and sand roughing up the Impala’s undercarriage, silently promising to detail the ever-loving shit out of her when they get back home.

From what he can make out through the whipping snow, the main drag of West Aurora consists of about three blocks, lined with quaint little lamp posts flying rainbow flags, populated by fancy little shops and cafes that probably charge way too much for fancy versions of shit Dean buys at Walmart. Locally-sourced, organic shit, the kind of stuff that hippies buy with their middle-management incomes to stick it to the man.

“It’s just past this cross street on the left.” With his gentle direction, Cas pulls Dean from the rant starting to bubble up, redirecting his attention to finding a place to park. Given the weather, Dean’s surprised at how busy the thoroughfare is, but then again, maybe this isn’t that bad for a town in the Snow Belt. He has to drive well past the coffee shop before they find what he _hopes_ is a suitable spot, since the snow’s covering up anything resembling lines. Still, it should be fine for a coffee stop.

“Alright, Angel,” Dean teases, flashes a flirty grin toward Cas, “let’s go get you something sweet.” And even though Cas rolls his eyes in exasperation, the pretty pink that paints his cheeks lets Dean know he likes it. With one last eyebrow waggle for good measure, Dean opens the door and steps out into the winter afternoon.

“Holy mother of _fuck_!” He pulls his coat collar up to brace against the wet blast of snow on his neck, regretting that he doesn’t have gloves. “Hurry up, man, let’s get outta this shit.”

* * *

A blast of warm, dry air greets them as they open the door to the shop. “Welcome to the Honey Beanery,” calls a perky young woman from behind the counter, “let me know if I can help you find anything!”

Rubbing his hands, red and tingling from the cold, Dean stomps his boots so that snow falls onto the thick rubber mat at the door, and smiles quietly to see Cas mimic his movements. Only without the hand-rubbing, since Cas’ large hands are currently tucked into a goofy pair of bright yellow woolen mittens, which, Dean has to admit, look pretty damn cozy now. He almost feels bad about mocking them when Cas had bought them. _Almost._

As he takes in the shop, Cas lights up like a kid on Christmas, and damned if Castiel ain’t fucking adorable with his nose and cheeks all pink from the cold, making the blue of his eyes that much more intense. He tugs the yellow mittens off and stows them in his coat pocket, then tosses a shy grin Dean’s way. Hand to god, Dean feels it all the way in his goddamn toes.

“You wanna look around first, then get something to drink?”

“Yes, please,” Cas murmurs. Then he takes that plump bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s trying to bite back a grin, and it takes a metric fuckton of self-control not to pull him in for a dirty kiss right there in the entrance. Later, he tells little Dean. There’ll be time for that later.

Dean pulls in a thick, heavy breath, and then reaches his hand out. This part is still new and scary for him, to be honest, but they’re in fucking Gay Fairy Tale Village, New York, for fuck’s sake. And Cas is _right there_ , looking so happy to be here with Dean, just to be doing this, together, exploring something that isn’t all death and destruction, and _fuck it._ Ain’t like John Winchester’s gonna pop out of the carefully restored Victorian shopfront just to question Dean’s sexuality, that’s for sure.

Cas’ broad smile is all the evidence Dean needs to know that he recognizes the significance of the offering, and Dean sends out a silent prayer of gratitude that he doesn’t make a big thing of it. They share quiet grins as Cas interlaces their fingers, and Dean lets himself be led through the shop. In addition to standard coffee shop fare and the honey that caught Cas’ attention, the shop is filled with an eclectic assortment of artisanal products from local vendors.

“Mind if I go get a caffeine fix?” Dean asks, tapping Cas on the shoulder to tear his attention away from a display of what looks like some kind of polished wooden sex toys.

“Of course, Dean.” Cas doesn’t even look up from the display as he gives Dean his order. “I’d like a large Honey Spiced Latte, please, and a honey glazed cinnamon bun.”

“Got it.” Dean pulls Cas’ hand up to his lips and brushes a kiss to his knuckles, then heads over to the line for the cafe.

Cas is sitting at a small table at the window, two large bags resting by his feet, by the time Dean has collected their order. One signature latte and honey bun for Cas, and one of each for Dean, too. Plus a slice of salted caramel apple pie, maybe to share. _‘When in Rome,’_ and all that, right? Only who’s Dean trying to kid here? It’s just him and Cas, and Cas won’t give him shit about liking frou-frou coffee drinks like Sammy does, so fuck it. He’s gonna enjoy the hell out of his Honey Spiced Latte, and if he feels like it, he’ll grab a second for the road.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says when Dean slides a mug over, smiling when he sees the bee made in the foam. For the next little while, they enjoy their drinks in companionable silence, with Cas happily people-watching the bustling of the shop and Dean watching Cas with just as much delight. When he takes a bite of his honey bun, Dean breaks that silence with a pleased moan that has Cas snapping to attention.

“I take it you approve?” he asks with one of his signature head tilts, nodding toward Dean’s plate, and Dean feels that gaze heating him up inside. His mouth is full of pastry, though, so all he can do is nod as he chews.

When he’s finished that bite, Dean admits, “Yeah, this was a good stop.” He’s rewarded with a dazzling smile, and yeah, he definitely needs to let Cas pick the pit stops more often.

Cas gets serious, a little anxious, then reaches down to rifle through his bags. He pulls out a small, flat package and slides it across the table. “A little something for you,” he says.

Dean stares at the box like it’s some sort of hex bag, all flustered, because he’s not used to this, to receiving spontaneous gifts. Or, y’know, having an adult relationship, take your pick.

“I assure you, it’s not going to bite you.” Cas’ eyes are full of mirth now, the asshole, and it’s just enough of a challenge to bring Dean back from the edge of too many feelings.

He opens the box with a defiant huff, then unfolds the tissue paper encasing some sort of soft cloth inside. And then his face feels like it’s caught fire. The package contains a pair of silk panties and lacy camisole, both the same golden green as his eyes.

Nervous, uncertain, Dean darts his eyes around the room before he dares to do more than look at what he finds within. The set looks so soft, sensuous, and the prospect of feeling that fabric against his bare skin…He traces a single fingertip along the delicate fabric, and can’t control the sharp intake of breath as the intricate lace catches against his calloused skin. His whole body is flush now, heated through with a combination of embarrassment and arousal.

 _Not since Rhonda_ , he thinks, his brain stuttering along, thinking too many things at once, _not since I told asshole other me…How did Cas know?_

“I-I…how—” he stutters, stumbles over his words; he can’t remember the last time he felt this called out. It’s like he’s trapped in a floodlight or pinned down under a microscope, naked and trembling and completely, utterly on display, touched and excited that Cas has noticed, but humiliated that it’s something there for Cas to notice.

“Why’d you do this?” Dean tugs his lower lip between his teeth, chews idly, his gaze is fixed on the lingerie.

“Because they’re soft and beautiful—though not as beautiful as you—and I know you love them, and you deserve as many beautiful things as I can provide and more.”

Dean goes weak at the answer, his lips tremble and he wants to speak, to respond with words as profound and magnificent and worthy of Cas, but he’s...he’s _Dean fucking Winchester_ , and he can’t say shit like that, he just _can’t_.

So he sits there, quiet, and stares at Cas the way Cas loves to stare at him. Takes a deep breath in, let’s it go.

_Cas, you got your ears on?_

Cas tilts his head and squints at Dean, curious. He gives a barely perceptible quirk of one eyebrow, encouraging Dean to continue.

_It’s just...you know how I am. How it can be hard to say things. That I want._

Castiel’s lips curl at the corners, stretching his mouth into just a tiny little hint of a smile as he listens.

_For that matter, sometimes it can be pretty hard for me to say thank you, but that don’t mean I’m not. Grateful, that is. Because I am._

That smile grows wider, and Cas’ face floods with relief, and seeing Cas like that makes something in Dean’s gut unclench, comforted to realize that Cas was nervous, too. Dean meets that smile with one of his own.

 _So, uh, thank you Castiel, who art sitting next to me in this coffee shop,_ Dean begins, his eyes glued to his angel, his smile going predatory, _for the lingerie that I can’t wait to show off for you before you fuck me. Amen._

“You wanna get outta here?”

His pupils blown wide, Cas nods, speechless.

* * *

Bundling back up to face the cold, they quickly make their way over to the Aurora Sunrise B&B. “Yelp says it’s ‘queer friendly’ and has king-sized beds in all suites, Dean,” Cas had said before they left the Honey Beanery, like he was ramping up for a debate on the subject. But he didn’t need to because he had Dean convinced with “it’s just across the street.”

Some small talk, one fake ID and credit card swipe later,and the two of them are walking into asuite that takes up the entire third floor of the renovated Victorian house. As soon as he crosses the threshold, Cas is on him like an animal, feral and ferocious, pressing their bodies together, running long fingers through his hair. A refrain of ‘ _Thank fuck for Charlie and her hacker magic_ ’ runs through his lust-addled brain, grateful that they didn’t have to make the trek back to I-90 to find a cheaper place to stay for the night.

“I believe I was promised a show,” Cas mouths against Dean’s neck as he drags his lips up the straining tendon, teeth grazing the skin just enough to make Dean squirm.

Dean drops his head back against the door with a thunk, offering up more of his neck for Cas to nibble and lick and kiss. “Fuck yeah, Cas,” he pants, pushing his hips forward for more friction, rubbing his hands along Castiel’s sides, “feels so good.” But then those strong fingers are tugging at his hair, the pressure just this side of too rough, and it pulls a groan from somewhere deep in Dean’s throat.

“Dean _,”_ Cas growls, fucking _growls_ at him, then pulls back and pins him in place with a stern gaze, “ _show me_.”

Dean’s tongue is suddenly too big for his throat, too heavy in his mouth to speak, so he nods instead, his mouth gaping like a goddamn goldfish.

 _Why is he just standing there like that?_ Oh yeah, _right_. Cas is holding the box out to him, he realizes, because his brain’s gone just a little bit sex stupid and maybe made him slow on the uptake.

“‘kay, Cas.” Dean reaches for the box, shy and awkward all of sudden, and then hurries to the bathroom. Cleaning up in the fancy ass spa shower (seriously, what kind of shower has a fucking bench seat in it?) works to settle his nerves, even as it riles him up, thinking about getting himself ready for Cas. So maybe he lingers for a little while, enjoying all those extra shower heads and reconsidering his stance on shower sex. Later.

But now? Now is for showing off. For Cas. Wearing the slinky lingerie that Cas bought for him. Something that he admits might have to be called butterflies flutters deep in his gut.

A dull thrum of arousal pulses just beneath the surface of his skin, knowing that Cas is just beyond the door, waiting. When he starts to slide the panties up his legs, he feels like one of those light-up balls at the science museum, that thrum spiking to a sharper zing everywhere his fingers touch, at every glide of silk against bare skin. It sends a shiver up his spine, blood rushing to his dick.

It’s a goddamn _thong,_ he realizes as he tries, with only partial success, to tuck himself into the front. He looks at his reflection in the mirror and it’s….it’s obscene, is what it is, how his thickening cock is already tenting the front of the panties, pulling the soft material tighter between his cheeks. Dean swallows thickly, because that tiny brush of friction already has him feeling good.He adjusts his hard-on so that the head peeks out from the top of the panties and his balls stay more or less held inside. It’s a tight fit. He likes it that way.

Dean turns to get a glimpse of his rear view, and not to brag or nothing, it’s a pretty good one. The top of the panties rests low on ass, highlights the roundness of his cheeks pretty damn nicely. Now for the top, intricate lace with silk edging, and softer than any lace he’s ever encountered (which, granted, isn’t _that_ much). But seriously, Cas must’ve had it spun from strands of angel down or some shit.

He carefully maneuvers it over his head and slips it on, and every goddamn nerve-ending it touches goes haywire. He shudders as it slides down his torso, his nipples pebbling and goosebumps breaking out all across his back. It feels so good, so goddamn _good_ against his skin that he can’t help but smile. And when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, he gasps. Because _fuck_ does he like what he sees, and he _never_ likes what he sees staring back at him.

But this Dean? Rough edges and solid muscle (and okay, a hint of a tummy) wrapped up in slinky silk and lace? He feels _pretty_ , and he fucking _likes_ it.

There’s a soft knock at the door, followed by a soft, “Dean?”

_Here goes nothin’._

Dean takes a deep breath in, and opens the door.

“Heya, Cas.”

Castiel backs up a few steps, giving Dean space to enter the room as he takes in the sight before him. He’s down to his boxers and an undershirt now, so Dean can see the effect he’s having in real time, from the flush spreading across his chest to the way his cock is starting to chub up in those stupid white boxers.

When the angel’s mouth drops open, Dean responds with a slight grin, equal parts shy and shit-eating. “See somethin’ you like?” he husks, the intensity of Castiel’s gaze sending heat to pool deep in his gut.

“I-…y-you look…you’re—“ Cas stutters, and holy _fuck_ does it light Dean up like nothing else to know that _he’s_ done this, made an almighty being of celestial intent speechless.

“Smooth talk there, Angel,” he quips, closing the distance between them so that he can nuzzle the tip of his nose against Castiel’s cheek. “So whaddya think?” he asks as he ghosts his lips along the shell of Cas’ ear.

“You’re stunning, Dean Winchester,” Cas answers, “absolutely breath-taking.” There’s a light in those crystalline eyes as he speaks, something soft and knowing and pure, and Dean doesn’t have the words to describe it right. Cas always looks at him like he’s special, but this, _this?_ It’s something… _more_ , and suddenly it feels like Cas ain’t just talking about how good Dean looks in a little lace and silk, and it’s almost too much to take.

“Cas,” Dean whines at it, at the too muchness of it all, because Cas will know what to do. Cas always knows just what he needs, even if he don’t know himself, and so Dean lets Cas take over, take care of him.

 _“_ _Noib, hoath.”_ Cas pulls him into his arms, wraps him up in warmth and safety, somehow making him feel small even though he knows he’s larger than Cas. _“Ol boaluahe g, ol hoath.”_

Cas talking sweet nothings in Enochian triggers something primal in Dean, has him seeking out Cas’ mouth with his own, desperate and needy. The kiss is wet and messy, their teeth clashing and scraping against each other’s lips, the coppery taste of blood melding with spit, but who cares? Who the fuck cares about a little bit of blood mixed in with the taste of Castiel’s mouth on his? Dean snakes his arms around Castiel’s neck, slides his fingers through that mess of dark hair as he pulls himself closer. Their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to knee, but it’s still not enough.

It barely registers to him when Cas dips down, bringing those big hands down to knead and squeeze Dean’s ass before he lifts back up, encouraging Dean to wrap his legs around Cas’ waist. Cas holds him like that, like he’s not a grown-ass man, and _fuck_ does that make Dean squirm. Held tight by the man he loves, like it’s nothing, writhing against the soft material of his pretty lingerie. Dean’s halfway gone already.

“Do you want me to fuck you like this, Dean?” The angel’s voice is a low growl, rough and dangerous. “Holding you like this? Just slip your panties out of the way so that I can penetrate you? Would you like that?”

 _“_ Yeah, yes, _Cas,”_ Dean whimpers as a thick finger slides inside his thong and slips between his cheeks, “need it, need you, _fuck_ me.”a

“As you wish, beloved.” Dean feels a slight pressure as Cas rubs his hole, teasing the sensitive pucker with his fingertip before it goes all warm and slick. He chokes off a moan as that finger breeches his rim, throws his head back in pleasure at the smooth glide of it, at the surprisingly gentle stretch.

“Y’know that’s cheating,” Dean breathes, notes the hint of ozone, as a second finger wriggles its way in beside the first, “prob’ly against some angel rule to use your grace like that.”

“So is loving a human,” Cas counters, biting into the over-sensitive skin of Dean’s neck, “among so many other rules I’ve disregarded.” And, okay, _fair point_. Besides, when Cas drags the flat of his tongue up and then nips at his jaw, Dean’s brain melts, and what even are rules, anyway?

“More,” he grunts, thighs tightening against Cas’ hips as he tries to grind down on those wonderful fingers, “ _you_ , please. _Now.”_

“So needy,” Cas murmurs before curling his fingers just _so_ to press against Dean’s prostate. “So beautiful when you let yourself go, let yourself _want_ like this.”

Dean’s a mess now, babbling and writhing in Cas’ arms. His cock aches where it’s pressed between their bodies, precome darkening the edge of the silk where the head is peeking out the top of his panties. _Yeah_ , he thinks, _Cas is right. He’s so fucking right._ Because Dean’s gone, definitely gone, and holy _fuck_ does he _want_.

“ _Cas_ ,” he mewls like a pathetic goddamn baby when Cas removes his fingers. Chuckling, Cas shushes him, soothes him with little kisses along his temple and cheek, and soon (though not soon enough), the blunt head of Cas’ cock is against his hole, all warm and hard and teasing and too damn gentle to actually push inside.

“Dammit, Cas, _please.”_

There’s another pulse of that ethereal warmth as the room floods with the scent of ozone, and then the head pops past the ring of muscle, now gone all soft and pliant. With a single, agonizingly slow stroke, Cas buries himself to the hilt, and then just stays there, kissing Dean within an inch of his goddamn life.

It’s good, so goddamn _good_ , Cas’ mouth on his while he’s stuffed full of angel cock, but Dean starts to get antsy, needs more. Needs Cas to _move,_ dammit. He whines again, wordless and breathy, and Cas—that sadistic mother _fucker_ —just laughs against his mouth.

Dean’s working himself up to saying… _something,_ to making words a thing he can do with his mouth, when Cas lifts him up, pulling him almost completely off that beautiful cock, and he’s whining _again_ because that’s the opposite of what he needs.

He shouldn’t worry, though, because Cas takes care of him; Cas _always_ takes care of him. The angel grips his hips tight, angelic fingers digging sharply into the meat of Dean’s ass, and slams him back down as he thrusts up.

 _Fuck._ They may not be in Looney Tunes Land anymore, but Dean’s pretty sure he sees actual stars. Cas fucks him like that for fuck knows how long, Dean’s lost track of time, of space, of anything that isn’t Cas’ cock thrusting into him, the friction of silk rubbing against his own. The entire world has compressed down to this. To the sweaty press of their bodies, to their breath as they pant and moan and gasp, to _them_ and only them. Nothing else matters; in this moment, nothing else even exists.

Dean’s lost in it, in _them_ , so lost that his orgasm surprises him, shooting up between their bellies, their chests, one spurt even hitting the edge of Cas’ chin. He leans in to lick it up, then pushes his tongue into Cas’ mouth, feeding him that little bit of his own release. And while he usually isn’t that fond of tasting his own jizz, tasting it on Cas’ tongue? That’s something else entirely.

And all the while, Cas keeps fucking him, fucks him through his aftershocks, thrusting deep and hard into Dean’s spasming hole, building to his own climax.

“Gonna come for me, angel, fill me up good?”

Those blue eyes blown completely dark, Castiel’s brow furrows in concentration, his hands squeezing even harder into Dean’s flesh as his frantic rhythm falters. His hips stutter—once, twice, and Dean can feel his cock pulsing deep inside as he begins to come. Dean clenches around him, milking him for every last drop.

He’s still impaled on Cas’ dick, wrapped around him like a baby koala when Cas starts moving. Only after he stumbles does Dean realize that Cas is trembling, moving on shaky legs toward the king-sized bed in the center of the room. He tries not to complain when Cas pulls out with a squelch, and a dribble of semen leaks between his cheeks, but the fond smile and shake of Cas’ head tells him that his face was still pretty loud about it. _Oops._

Cas lowers Dean onto the mattress, reverent and loving, and then collapses next to him with a sigh. “That was…” Cas drifts off, his eyes closing, and he’s so damn beautiful Dean could cry.

“Yeah, it was,” Dean replies, pressing his lips to Cas’ cheek. “Thank you,” he continues, barely louder than a whisper, “for…for, uh…y’know.”

With a bit of awkward maneuvering, they wiggle their way beneath the sheets, and soon Cas is curled up into Dean’s side.

“You look so very pretty in them, you know.” Cas nuzzles his face into the crook of Dean’s neck, “It was truly my pleasure. I look forward to seeing you in more.” Dean’s cheeks pinken at the prospect of more, and ain’t that just ridiculous after what they’ve just done?

“Thank you, Dean.”

“For what?” Dean pulls Cas in closer, kisses the top of his head.

“For stopping at the Honey Beanery. I’ll definitely need to leave it a positive review on Yelp.”

**Author's Note:**

> All Enochian comes from [Passable Enochian Translator.](https://lingojam.com/APassableEnochianTranslator)
> 
> Noib, hoath: Yes, beloved  
> Ol boaluahe g, ol hoath.: I love you, my beloved.  
> Return to text
> 
> Rebloggable link for tumblr [here](https://judithandronicus.tumblr.com/post/640316800554385408/the-honey-beanery-judithandronicus)
> 
> Retweetable link [here](https://twitter.com/JudithAndronic1/status/1349806524642816003?s=20).


End file.
